2308
7.115
26.iv.26
in a
lit mist
wallaby
weather
show
treetops
cast
the eye
and
there’s a catch of call-it-cloud
with
all the sun shone through
afoot
fresh mown
eyes up
it was
tide of life
to lift
our still
out along
a limb
abroad
fearless
as birds
whom
the air must catch
I’d
never call it falling
there
was a house sat up
a tilt
at will
the wherewithal
so often
in all
this breathing world
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